Where We Came From
Sunday morning arrives, the advent of yet one more warm fall day. Before dawn while outside I heard an owl calling somewhere in a nearby tree. I couldn’t see the owl though it certainly was able to see me. The owl’s call was distinct, somewhat uncanny. The owl is a predator with dagger-like talons. Unlike my species, an owl will taken only as much as it needs for food. Humans are caretakers, lovers of wildness or crime families intent upon destruction.
The French anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss once said something like
“Art survives within modern civilization rather like little islands of wilderness
saved to show us where we came from.” Someone once said that what makes
writing good is the wildness in it. The wildness gives heart, courage, love, spirit,
danger, compassion, skill, fierceness and sweetness – all at once – to language.
Back On the Fire, Essays by Gary Snyder, Writers and the War Against Nature p. 63
It has been a while since we’ve featured a tune. This one stands as witness to my generation. White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane. Kudos to Grace Slick for a superb lyric.
